Everyday Carry (or EDC, for the tactically minded) is usually defined by practicality. It’s the gear you keep with you to ensure you’re prepared for the “what ifs” of daily life.
In the 21st century, we’ve managed to consolidate an entire survival kit into a glass rectangle. As long as your smartphone has a charge, you’ve got maps, emergency guidance, a flashlight, a digital wallet, and a direct line to help. But a smartphone is a cold tool, especially if the signal drops and the battery dies. Its value immediately vanishes.
This isn’t a post about survival kits, though. You can find plenty of those elsewhere on the internet. Instead, this is a look at the vintage items that defined the character of the man who raised me. His EDC wasn’t about surviving the apocalypse – it was about showing up for others, particularly his family.
The Overstuffed Bi-Fold
He carried a thick, leather bi-fold wallet that sat a full inch high when closed. The bulk wasn’t from cash, but from a miniature photo album tucked inside. It was a rotating gallery of pride: reminders of how his family had grown, with dates and ages scrawled on the back of every print.
I can still see him sliding a photo out of its plastic sleeve, rubbing it between his fingers as if to transfer his warm touch to them and remind himself of his good fortune. Then he’d carefully slide them back securely into the holder with an admiring smile on his face.
While the mini album might not get anyone out of a bind, it was a constant reminder of what meant most to him and his purpose in life.
A Pocketful of Change
His front pocket was always laden with a mound of loose change, which never seemed to be less than five dollars’ worth. Back then, change had a different kind of weight.
It meant being able to use a payphone in an emergency or drop a few coins in the collection basket at church. It could be left as a part of a tip without insulting the waitron. And as a token of gratitude for special chores that were completed.
But mostly, it meant he always had something to give. Whether it was supporting a neighborhood lemonade stand or donating to a charity in front of the local store, it was a little something to chip in.
Whenever he accumulated too much pocket change he would offer me a chance to look through it. And if I found anything of extraordinary value he would offer it freely for my coin collection.
To him, change wasn’t just currency; it was a way to contribute to someone else’s day.
The “Thing-a-ma-jig”
He carried a pair of fingernail clippers that only occasionally served that purpose. Sure, my mother would ask for them to fine-tune a cuticle or to remove a hangnail, but the clippers saw more action as a heavy-duty utility tool. It was the family’s Swiss Army Knife.
They snipped stray threads, clipped off clothing tags, performed surgery to remove splinters, and opened stubborn packages during the holidays. The whole family knew he had them everywhere he went. When someone was struggling with the ribbons or shrink-wrap on a gift, they’d just ask for the “thing-a-ma-jig.” He’d hand it over with a quiet smile, happy to be of help in a time of need.
The Multi-Purpose Handkerchief
Stuffed in the back pocket opposite his wallet (I suspect to even out his seat), the handkerchief was a staple. Yes, it was used for the robust “trumpeting” – a sinus-clearing blast that has also been inherited by some of his children and grandchildren.
But when it wasn’t a hanky, it was a bandana to wipe a sweaty brow, a makeshift filter for dust, or a bandage to wrap a wound in a pinch. Its most important job, however, was wiping away tears. Whether it was from the tragedy of a dropped ice cream cone or a balloon lost to a strong breeze or overhearing the mean words from a peer, that cloth was the first line of defense against a child’s heartbreak.
The “Stolen” Noses
This was the only item in his EDC that was imaginary, yet he “carried” them every day. Usually following the handkerchief’s appearance to dry a cheek, he’d perform the classic “I’ve got your nose” trick.
He’d accompany the sleight-of-hand with an exaggerated comic “gripping and ripping” sound effect. After revealing the “stolen” nose between his index and middle finger, he’d slide the prize into his pocket and rattle it around with his loose change. It wasn’t about the trick; it was about the distraction. It turned a cry into a smirk, and a smirk into a chuckle. I don’t know how many noses he stole over the years and it wasn’t important if they were never returned. They were exchanged for better moods and sweeter memories.
While I’m usually an early adopter of technical advancements that come along, there are days I yearn for those simpler things. A smartphone can give you the world, but it can’t perform minor surgery, wipe a tear, or rattle around like a stolen nose.
What about you? Is there something a parent or grandparent always carried that you remember fondly?
Words and images by Michael J. Hall unless otherwise noted.
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